Blood On My Hands
by alfaey
Summary: Angela Ziegler is forced to relive the time spent with Moira O'Deorain, finally shedding light on what happened during the geneticist's time within the organization of Overwatch. (Slight Moicy slash fic, rated T for language, moderate graphic scenes, and mild sexual instances / Moira x Mercy / Angela Ziegler)
1. Prologue

**A/N: Hi! This is the first fic I've started writing for Overwatch. I really wanted to explore the dynamics of Mercy and Moira's relationship while Moira was still working for Overwatch and a few other things.**

 _I do not own Overwatch or any of its characters, only my plot and any small characters_

* * *

 **Prologue**

January, 2074 - Paris, France - Angela Ziegler

"I know, I know, spätzli. It's only one more day, then you'll be here, and we can enjoy ourselves. No, no… I'm alright, I still have a few more patients to see before I'm ready to leave." Angela stood in front of the window of her small, temporary apartment. Outside, snow beat down on the crumbled outskirts of Paris. Unfortunately, this side of town had seen the most destruction from the Omnic Crisis. It had never completely recovered from its devastation.

"Yes, I have our reservations for the hotel and for dinner…" She sighed into the phone. Her girlfriend, Fareeha, could be such a worry wart. But in truth, she knew that her spätzli was only excited to see her. They'd been apart for far too long.

Over the last six months, the doctor had been stationed in the slums of Paris, attending to those who could not afford to get medical help, or even much needed surgeries. Half of a year, she spent tending to small children, and mostly elderly people who had been nursing their injuries since the Omnic Crisis. After the war, the city had been ceased by the elitists; aristocrats with far too much money in their pockets had rebuilt the city - except for the slums, where the stench of poverty was too much for them.

Since the disbandment of Overwatch, Angela always found herself drawn to these sorts of places. Only wanting to help those in need, who cannot afford to help themselves. And with a large grant from the organization she worked for, she was able to travel across the world and give care.

"Angela?" Fareeha's voice echoed into the doctor's train of thought.

"I'm sorry - I'm a little tired, Fareeha. I'll give you a call tomorrow morning before I finish up at the orphanage." After they traded good byes, she hung up her phone, setting it down on the window sill. Angela missed her partner, and even though she still had so much work to be done before she left, she wanted nothing more than to be with Fareeha.

Angela continued to look about the neighborhood, watching the snow silently hit the ground. She could see small children playing in it, and as the sun had begun to set, it was a peaceful sight. A sight that filled her with hope that she had made a difference here, and that soon this small part of the city could be restored to its former glory.

A hard knock on the door interrupted her, and caused her to jump nearly out of her skin. It was very unusual for her to receive visitors at this hour, unless it was an emergency. Turning away from the window she paced over to the door, through her tiny apartment. Though, it was hardly an apartment. A small room with a bed big enough just for herself, a closet sized bathroom that had no bath, and a small cooking station she'd put together. It was hardly homey, but she was thankful nonetheless that she'd been allowed to stay in the facility for free.

Swiftly opening the door, she was met with two officers.

"Bonjour? Puis-je vous aider?" Mercy's broken French cracked slightly, as she crossed her arms. Anxiety began to swell in the pit of her stomach as she looked them over.

The problem with what Angela did here in Paris… well, it was not usually permitted.

Most of the elitist in the city didn't agree to her missionary work, saying that it was none of anyone's business what happened in the lower class of _their_ city. That these were _their_ people, and they'd provide for them.

The truth was, they didn't want anyone to know how bad these people had it, lest someone try to do something about it. If the rest of the world caught wind of it, there would be trouble for them. It almost made Angela wish that Overwatch hadn't been shut down… they would have never let this go on.

"Are you Angela Ziegler?" The taller of the two inquired, with a thick accent. They both proceeded to pull their badges out to let her know they were official.

"Yes, what can I do for you gentleman?"

"We've been told to retrieve you, and bring you to the station. This is not a request, and we _will_ use force if needed." The other spoke, and by his tone it seemed as if he would enjoy having to cuff her and bring her against her will. Of course, she'd put up one hell of a fight.

Yet, she couldn't shake the dreadful feeling that had been piling in her gut for the last few seconds. If they were taking her in for questioning over the missionary work she was doing here in the slums of Paris, they would either arrest or her prohibit her from entering the city. And the thought of that angered her, after all she had done. She thought for a moment about indeed throwing a fit over being taken from the apartment… but if she did that, it would cause too much attention on her, and the mission organization might take away or funding, or strip away her status.

"As you wish. Let me grab my coat, please." Angela surrendered with a sigh, taking her heavy coat off the rack. She turned to look at her apartment for a moment before departing with the officers.

In the car, the officers did not utter a word to her, nor to each other. The only sound was that of the car, and the slush of the snow beneath them. Outside of the car's window, she watched as she left the dull lights of the slums, and instead entered the bright, spectacular glow of the city. As much as she wanted to enjoy the bit of the sightseeing she was getting now, the gloom that hung over her overpowered any kind of positive outlook. Angela was grateful that the ride to the station within the city was a short one.

They arrived at the downtown area of the nicer part of the city, and stopped in front a large, heavily guarded building which she understood to be their main facility. Angela began to understand why she hadn't simply been brought to a standard unit within the slums. If they were truly going to arrest her for her crimes, she would need to be interrogated by someone with higher authority. Someone who had a firmer say so on a sentence.

The officer who she felt wished her harm got out of the passenger seat, and came around to her, assisting her out of the car. But, as she stepped out of it, he abruptly snatched her arms behind her, tightly binding her wrists in a pair of cuffs.

"I came here of my own free will, yet you cuff me?" Angela raised an eyebrow at the policeman, who seemed unfazed by her question. Instead he took hold of one of her arms, escorting her into the building.

"I suppose men like you get a kick out of this, yes?" She muttered under her breath, and it now got the man's attention. He turned to her with fire in his eyes, but still said nothing. However he did grip her arm much harder than before, and she was sure she'd have a bruise to explain to Fareeha. And that also made her question what her spätzli would do if she knew a man was handling her in such a manner. Not that the doctor couldn't take care of it herself.

While she quietly also considered if Fareeha would be interested in cuff play, the officer drug her through the building, taking turn after turn, elevator after elevator, until he'd finally reached their destination. She was brought into a room that had one table, and a chair on either side of it. Behind the set up was what she assumed was a two way mirror. The beastly officer forcibly sat her in the chair facing the mirror, taking her cuffed hands so he could lock them in the chain attached to the metal chair.

"You will wait here." Was all he said before he sauntered off, slamming the door shut behind him. The sound eerily reminded her of a nail being struck into a coffin. The sound of her demise.

"And I will wait here… looks like I have nothing better to do." Angela side, slumping back in her seat. She wondered what kind of crime they would accuse her off, before stripping her of her right to help within city limits. If they would only fine her, and if she would lose her status with the missionary organization. Not that, that would hinder her much… the doctor refused to turn a blind eye to those in need. She'd end up having to go rogue… though to her, that sounded a little fun.

"Bonsoir, Mlle. Ziegler - oh mon dieu. Cela ne va pas faire!" The door had opened, and a man who spoke stopped, with an aggravated look on his face. From the broken French that Angela knew, something was upsetting him.

"Mlle. Ziegler, I apologize," The man said in a gruff voice. He was tall, clothed in what appeared to be cheap black slacks, a white collared button up, and a tie that hung loosely around his neck. He had thinning, jet black colored hair that matched his equally skinny mustache. In hand, he had a cigarette lit. "I am unsure why you were left in such a way… you are no prisoner here."

Angela raised a brow at the man, "Am I not? Your officers say that they were given orders to be rough with me as needed."

This seemed to come as a surprise to him, his expression darkened. "Again, I apologize. They will be dealt with, give me just a moment - I will have you released from your cuffs. This kind of behavior is not tolerated against someone who is a guest, not a prisoner."

He hurried himself out of the door, shouting in French. "Not a prisoner?" Angela said aloud. She was unsure if the man, whom she now suspected was the chief inspector, was telling the whole truth. If she was a guest, why had she not been called on politely to come speak with him. Why hadn't, perhaps, he made a house call? Angela was not a hard woman to reach.

Soon enough the inspector came back, this time with a set of keys, and a few files in hand. "Now, here we are." He spoke softly, and she could hear the jingle of the chains on her wrists being released. It felt nice no longer being strapped to the chair like a common thug, she noted, as she rubbed the ache out of her wrists.

"I cannot apologize enough to you, Mlle. Ziegler." His gruff voice again spoke, as he took his seat across from her, placing his files upon the table. His mannerisms were not intimidating, yet nor were they friendly. It was hard for the doctor to get a good impression of him.

"All is forgiven." Angela said quietly, crossing her legs as she made herself comfortable with her newfound freedom, placing her hands on her knee.

"I am surprised how calm you are over this," the man gave her a grim smile, gesturing a hand out in sign of goodwill. "I am Chief Inspector Davolt." Angela's hands never left her knee, passing on the handshake. She was in no mood for such formalities, and wanted to know why in God's name she was here.

The inspector gave her a thin smile. "Perhaps not so calm, then, eh?"

"Why am I here?" Angela was blunt, and rightfully so. Davolt retracted his hand with a sigh.

"Mlle. Ziegler, once again I am finding myself extremely apologetic to you. I know that my men were not polite, and I am sure that you were concerned over your wellbeing here in the city. We're all very aware of the work you do on the less fortunate of the city - and I assure you, none of us here wish to see it come to an end." Davolt responded nonchalantly, still dancing around her question.

Instead, he stood up from his seat, lighting another cigarette. Angela was mildly disgusted with this, not only because he was causing her anxiety to sky rocket through the roof. But because of the disgusting thing in his mouth, filling the room with its scent and chemicals. She was also uneasy over how much he knew about what she was doing here in Paris. It should've been expected, though, with the work she did here. They would be keeping tabs on any outsiders who could potentially be undesirables.

"So, inspector?" Angela impatiently requested again.

"We're also aware of your association with the disbanded organization of Overwatch."

"What does that have to do with anything, inspector Davolt? Are you here to charge a crime against me from so many years ago, with people I no longer am in contact with? If you know of my association, then you are aware that I agreed with the decision to end Overwatch."

This arose a smile from Davolt, who in turn spoke now with authority. "Mlle. Ziegler - may I call you Angela? You see… here, I am not worried about your status, or who you are or were in Overwatch. You seem arrogant enough to believe that this is solely about you and your involvement. Perhaps you are overlooking the possibilities here, that what I need from you isn't truly about _you_."

Anger rose within Angela, and she was tired of being treated like a fool. "Then who, inspector?"

"Tell me, Angela… about your relationship with Moira O'Deorain."

* * *

 _ **Translations:**_

 _spätzli_ \- little sparrow

 _Puis-je vous aider_ \- may I help you

 _Cela ne va pas faire_ \- (that's not going to do) this won't do

 _Mlle._ \- Ms.


	2. Chapter 1

_My relationship with Moira…_ Angela's head began to spin as the name lingered within it. She had preferred to forget the geneticist entirely, and had done so. All thoughts, memories, and anything involving the Irish fiend had tucked themselves away. Lost, in the deepest reaches of her mind. . But, now, after hearing her name for the first time in years… the memories began to trickle in one by one. Faintly, but still slipping through the cracks of their cage with ease. Flickers of fiery wisps of hair flashed through her mind, so intense that she felt the memory could burn her. Mismatched eyes that had once stared so deeply into her soul.

* * *

Mercy was not sure if she could bring herself to _want_ to remember Moira. And even more so, the events that had transpired during their time working together.

" _Dr. Ziegler?" A voice chimed from the doorway of Angela's office. She'd been sitting quietly at her desk, enjoying a freshly made cup of coffee. She'd been at the hospital, tending to some of the recruits who had a rough time during the last mission. Fortunately, there were no casualties… if you didn't consider the doctor's time to be one._

 _Angela turned her head to find one of her associates, Winston, lingering at the door. "Winston! Please, I've told you to call me Angela." She gave him a polite smile, before waving her hand at him. "Please, come sit. What is it that I can do for you?"_

 _The gorilla returned the pleasantry as he sauntered over to her. And took a seat carefully. Angela did enjoy the scientist's company, and it was a pleasure to see him. With their line of work, they did not cross paths often._

" _Commander Morrison wanted to let you know that you have a new assignment. He was getting ready to leave on a mission with Captain Amari. So he was unable to deliver this himself…" Winston spoke , extending one of his hands to present her with a folder. She was used to receiving orders this way - with Jack becoming the commander, he was busier than ever._

Yet _, Angela was in fact surprised to find that the folder had been taped shut. On the outside, a single word labeled to the front in alarming large letters. "Confidential" it said._

" _Thank you for taking the time to deliver this to me, Winston. Have you been doing well?" Angela politely chatted with him as she carefully opened the file. She was not worried about Winston being overly nosey with the information in her hands. He was a trustful being._

" _Oh! It's not a problem Dr. Zie- Angela. I've been alright, we're still worried about the missing Slipstream pilot. I'm sure you've heard…" Winston's voice trailed off into the distance as Angela scanned the assignment information in her hands._

 _In its contents it detailed a very sensitive project with another scientist that resided within the Overwatch base in secret._

 _Moira O'Deorian._

 _Angela could feel her brows furrow as she read further. There was a note from Jack himself instructing that she would be assisting O'Deorian in one of her projects. He felt with her background in biotic technology, that she'd be able to help Moira._

 _Normally, she was not concerned when working with other scientists within the facility. But Moira was not a normal scientist. She called herself a geneticist, and prided herself on redefining the DNA of life. Or 'playing God', as Angela wanted to call it. It was wrong to her, to think of attempting to change the way that people were created for the wrong reasons. Angela could see the idea behind this, to change genetic codes with the intentions of eradicating illness._

 _Yet something lead the doctor to believe that Moira's ideals were far from passive._

 _Angela had only met her once or twice while she worked in Overwatch, and all times, she felt uneasy around her. She was very arrogant, morally grey, and yet… she was still intriguing to Angela. She recalled that Moira was indeed very intelligent. And though she disagreed with her work, it was difficult not to hang onto every word that left her lips._

" _Dr. Ziegler - are you alright? I can go if you need me to." Winston piped up, interrupting Angela's thoughtfulness._

" _Forgive me Winston," Angela's face turned red in embarrassment. It was terribly rude of her to have lost her train of thought in the middle of a conversation. "The day has barely begun and I'm completely out of it!" She attempted to joke with him to hide her inconsiderate behavior._

" _Aren't we all?" Winston returned the jest, with a genuine smile. "I have to be off anyway, Dr. Ziegler. I hope that you enjoy the rest of your day." And with that, the gorilla scientist fled her office. Which left Mercy alone with her thoughts, and the daunting assignment on her desk._

 _Angela sighed as she gave the file one last passing glance, before taking another long sip of her now lukewarm coffee. She was unsure why she felt so hesitant about taking this assignment. From what she could tell in the files, there was nothing that talked weaponry of any sort - which she was against. And if Jack thought that Moira's project was anything but passive, he wouldn't have called on her for help. Angela didn't want to be responsible for any extra bunny lives._

 _After finishing her coffee, Angela finally decided to leave her office in search of the red headed woman. Whether it was against her better judgment, she was unsure._

 _What was the worst that could happen anyway?_

* * *

"So this project, Mlle. Angela?" Inspector Davolt questioned. He had seated himself across from Angela once again. This time with his legs crossed, casually leaning back in his chair as he took a drag of his cigarette.

Angela's mind was still spinning with the memories that she had fought to hide away. She loathed the fact that was she was being forced to spill the beans on what happened.

The incentive to give information was very clear to her. Answer the questions, or be expelled from city limits. And with so many people counting on her, she would oblige the inspector.

"Moira had been attempting to perfect her own biotic technology. I assume you know what that means, yes?" Angela's eyes focused back on the inspector, who gave her a short nod. "She'd been unsuccessful in creating her own healing technology. Which doesn't surprise me now, since that woman is more about taking than giving…" Angela again trailed off, trying not to dive back into the pool of abandoned memories.

"Pardon?" The inspector feigned a cough, taking a drag of his cigarette. It seemed he didn't like her little joke.

"Nothing, I just… if you're here questioning me about Moira, you must know what kind of _person_ she is."

"From what we have gathered, she is not necessarily a hero nor a villain, Mlle. Angela. We know she receives a majority of her funding from the terrorist organization Talon. And in return provides them with her research, and possibly even weapons." Davolt paused, choosing his words wisely.

"The information you've been withholding about your association with her could cause you to be complicit with her." He'd decided that he was done with being patient with Angela.

"Do you think we are not aware of what kind of person she is? Please, Mlle. Ziegler, I urge you to move on with your story, and do not deviate." Davolt held no mercy within his eyes as he flicked his ashes onto the floor.

Angela cut her eyes at him, and felt as if it were becoming a trend. Davolt had been kind enough upon his entrance but now… now it seemed his patience was becoming as thin as his hair.

"I was assigned on the project to help her create an asset on the battlefield that would allow her to heal in great measurements…"

Angela wanted to be done with this, to be done with it all.

She could hardly stand having to recall all the information she had tried to burn away. Yet, a small voice in the back of her mind began to speak. Reminding the doctor that she was not innocent in this story either.

And it was time to remember, so that she could forget.


End file.
